Chapter 4: Fault Lines
708 Words
The silence in Zanele’s penthouse was a kind of violence.
The news had broken by morning. Discreetly, at first. Whispers in executive lounges, cautious texts among junior partners, headlines in legal newsletters that used words like “embezzlement,” “breach of trust,” and “insider scandal.”
Mandla hadn’t come home. Not that she expected him to.
Zanele stood by the full-length windows of her lounge, still dressed in yesterday’s heels and blazer, watching the world move below her. Sandton traffic was back to its rhythm—corporate soldiers marching into glass towers, coffee in one hand, ambition in the other.
And here she was. A woman burned, but not broken.
Her phone rang. Thami.
She let it buzz twice before answering. “Talk.”
“You scorched them,” he said, not hiding the note of admiration. “It’s all over the inner legal circuit. I think your boardroom table might be the new battlefield of legend.”
Zanele didn’t smile. “They haven’t even begun to feel the heat.”
There was a pause. Then: “Dinner still on the table?”
She walked to the kitchen and poured herself a coffee. “If your intel is real, you’ve earned a conversation. Just don’t bring flowers.”
Thami chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Tonight?”
“I’ll text you the place.”
She hung up.
---
Later that evening, she chose the restaurant with precision: Kong in Rosebank—private booths, deep lighting, a curated crowd that knew the value of discretion. She wore black silk and red lipstick. No perfume. She wanted her presence to speak louder than scent.
Thami arrived right on time, in tailored navy and a knowing smirk. “You look like you just signed a billion-rand merger.”
“I feel like I just buried a fraud,” she replied, sliding into the booth across from him.
They ordered wine and sushi. Talk stayed light until the plates were cleared.
Then Thami leaned forward. “You were always ruthless, Zee. But this… this is vengeance dressed in power. Tell me something—what’s the endgame?”
Zanele took a sip of wine. “Freedom.”
He raised a brow. “From Mandla?”
“From the version of me that needed to build a man to feel seen.”
Thami blinked. “That’s not the Zanele I remember.”
She met his gaze. “That’s because the Zanele you remember was still trying to make a hero out of a coward.”
Thami said nothing for a while. Then he pulled a thin envelope from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.
“What’s this?” she asked, not touching it yet.
“Details on Kay’s offshore account in Mauritius. The one that ties directly back to the dummy vendor invoices. With this, you can file criminal charges. Or let her sweat and squeeze her for everything she’s worth.”
Zanele stared at the envelope. “And what do you want in return?”
Thami gave a half-shrug. “I told you. One date.”
She tilted her head. “This is the date.”
He laughed softly. “Then let’s call it a negotiation. Because I’m not going anywhere. You need someone who doesn’t flinch when the floor shakes. I’ve watched you build an empire on nerve and strategy, but even the strongest queen needs an unshakable knight.”
Zanele looked at him for a long moment.
Then, finally, she took the envelope and slipped it into her clutch. “I don’t need a knight, Thami.”
“No,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But you might want one.”
---
Back at her penthouse, she kicked off her heels and stood barefoot in the kitchen again. This time, no wine. No tears. Just quiet.
Her laptop glowed from the living room. The file she had opened was already forming her next move: a list of external auditors, forensic specialists, crisis PR managers.
She wasn't rebuilding. She was reinventing.
And as she climbed into bed, alone but unburdened, Zanele whispered aloud:
“Let them watch. Let them learn.”
Tomorrow, she would announce a new co-lead of the firm.
And it wouldn’t be Mandla.
- Writer
